


Discontented

by Augustus



Category: Backstreet Boys, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-06
Updated: 2002-08-06
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3252431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AJ's sick of the fame game. His POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discontented

**Author's Note:**

> Chronology: Millennium

Howie's eyes reflect the yellow hotel room light as he looks down at me, mouth flickering with badly-suppressed amusement. He nods slightly to show that he is listening, fingers looping and twisting in the folds of my collar and occasionally brushing warm, incidental trails over my skin. His lips distract me with their shape, and I clutch dramatically at the corrugated fabric of the sheets beneath me in order to shackle the urge to wrap my fingers around his neck, drawing him into my kiss. I sigh, wriggling in closer to the warmth of his body and arching to meet his analgesic touch.

"I'm sick of this," I mutter. 

He nods sagely, non-committal as my hand strays to grasp his own. He lifts my fingers to slide soft against his lips, then collects them in a crisscross affirmation of his presence. "I know," he replies, common words untangled from their cliches and rendered genuine through the emotion of their tone. "I know," he repeats and slinks down lower at my side, head denting the curve of my pillow as his eyes liquefy me. "I wish I could make it better."

"You do." I kiss him, gathering his legs within my own and shrinking the distance between us as I breathe prosaic syllables against the curve of his neck. "Some days, you're the only reason I stay."

Howie smiles, curling me deeper into his embrace and pressing my cheek to the rise-and-fall cushion of his chest. I count his heartbeats; distracted, my fingers mimic the rhythm, tapping patterns upon his forearm. "I'm glad you stay," he murmurs, and his flesh distorts the sound, ringing against the lobe of my ear as he smooths my dissatisfaction. 

_(Once, before it all became real, Howie and I took turns to name our ingenuous reasons for the pursuit of fame. He laughed when I confessed that I wanted people to look at me. When my smile splintered, he folded careful arms around my waist and told me he'd stare at me for hours if I only knew to ask.)_

"How do you stay sane, D?" I ask him, envious of the even cycle of his breathing. "What keeps you so damn inspired?"

Howie's kiss brands my forehead and I can feel the smile that evades my line of vision. His heartbeat tangles and steadies as I work inquisitive fingers past the elastic barrier of his waistband, already tired of my maudlin-flecked conversation. He stretches into my touch and I raise my head from his chest, painting invisible tongue-lines in the shadows of his neck.

His hands clench and his throat quivers as he replies. "You do."

Wordless, I smile, and wrap myself in his embrace.

**6th August 2002**


End file.
